


The Villain

by BastardSonOfDay (Diana_Raven)



Series: Hannukah Gifts [7]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Gen, villain!lucien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 01:29:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17091533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diana_Raven/pseuds/BastardSonOfDay
Summary: Lucien decides that if no one else will fix Prythian, he will.





	The Villain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_selkies_tale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_selkies_tale/gifts).



> A take on how Lucien could have turned bad. Because... it's been in my mind
> 
> Prompt: Anything with lucien is endgame for me

His throne room is bright. The skylight lets natural sunlight in. The throne—throne doesn’t seem like the right word—is wooden. The intricate designs of flowers climb up the arms like tendrils of ivy, flames lick the feet, as if trying forever to reach the roses but unable to. Then, at the base of the headboard, that all those flowers turned to like they were striving to grow towards it: a shining sun. Someone in Winter had made it for him—a thank you gift.

Lucien stares the acres of forest below which surround the Mountain. He has chosen this place as a sort of… symbol. A ruler of a new age, from the same place as the old ruler. Only Lucien is different than the Blight. Lucien has no Court. He rules from the top of the Mountain, so he could see everyone below prospering.

“Lucien-” The voice, cracked with screaming and wariness, calls to him. Lucien turns to see Feyre as she limps towards him. Her body is worn and wounded. Behind her Rhys leans on the doorway to his throne room, eyes unwavering from Lucien’s, but he doesn’t move past the doorway. He’s hurt too.

Lucien snorts. He has no guards, pays no men. No spells keep him safe. He knows that Jesminda would say it was because he was just waiting for someone to get up the courage to end it. He knew that Feyre and Rhysand would be here in the end, standing where they are.

They must have fought their way through the armies surrounding the Mountain, insistent that he not be dethroned. He never asked them to, had no want for it. But he would not order them otherwise, that wasn’t how he ran his country.

“Hello Feyre. Are you here to pay fealty?” She and Rhys were the only ones who had not so far. The resistance, they call themselves.

Lucien doesn’t understand why they don’t just hand over the reins to him. All he does is impose a few rules, a few laws for better living. Nothing else. He isn’t cruel like the Bitch. He doesn’t want to take over the whole world or genocide an entire species like the King. All he does is impose a few laws, simple ones, so make Prythian better. The rest of Prythian loves him, but these two never have. They seem completely immune to his charms and blackmail and knowledge.

“Never.” Rhysand snarls from the doorway.

“Your loss.”

“Lucien, we’ve come here to stop you.”

Lucien nods and takes a last look out at his people. His country. They had all fallen rather quickly after he’d taken Tamlin under his wing—the poor man, so broken and weak, running to Lucien and this time it was _Lucien_ who saved _him_ —he’d become the barrier into the human realms. Then came Autumn, after he’d helped Eris ascend to the throne. His mother was saved. His brothers—the ones who’d tried to kill Eris after his inauguration—had been slain. Not that Lucien had minded, at that point it had been like killing ants.

When Helion had slipped away, Lucien had taken his rightful throne as Heir. That left three of the seven Courts under his rule. Tarquin was easily convinced when Lucien explained the new rules he planned to implement as Tarquin was already halfway into changing over to a democracy. He handed Lucien the reins without question, and the rest was simply talked away.

And then there were three.

Lucien whispered his way into Kallias’ kingdom, his fire and sunlight melting the ice between them. His words slithering into Kallias’ mind until Kallias too wished to be a part of a new dawn. Then, Thesan: who was ever so glad to join the Alliance.

It was just Night left after that, and Night it stayed. For Rhysand was the most powerful High Lord in all of history, but Lucien, little Lucien, the bastard son of day, the outcast of Autumn, the Emissary of Spring, the friend of the Phoenix Queen… well, he was just slightly better connected, that was all.

And so, with a few well placed words here, a biological connection there, Lucien watched as the Courts of Prythian fell to their new High King—and of course, with any new king came a resistance, and the resistance began to shine.

“Stop me from what? From implementing governors as the new rulers of the Courts? From destroying the social barriers between the lesser and greater Fae? For making sure any man who hits his family is executed? Tell me exactly what I’ve done to warrant your hatred, Rhys.”

“Prythian shouldn’t have a King.”

“Prythian needs this unity, these rules.”

“Prythian needs autonomy.”

“You cannot cite these rules while ignoring the massacres of the High Fae. The threats of the Mortal Realms since the death of Vassa and Jurian.” Feyre adds.

“A ruler must be able to be more than _bitter_ , Lucien.” Rhys hisses. “Otherwise, you’re nothing but a tyrant.”

“Oh! And I suppose I have no right to be bitter?” Lucien snarls, eyes flashing. The heat which builds within him carefully reined back in, so he doesn’t vaporize his enemies. Not that they notice _that_ of course. No, they only notice things which make their lives easier, like figuring out that Lucien was the son of Helion or-

 _Don’t get overwhelmed by that now, Lucien._ He tells himself. _Breathe, just breathe-_

“Of course, you have a right to be bitter, Lucien.” Feyre says. “But that doesn’t give you a right to take it out on Prythian.”

“Can you honestly say I haven’t done good here?” Lucien asks. Truly asks, because if they can then he’ll go along quietly. He’ll know that all he did was for naught. It’ll be worth it to die. But if they say yes, well then, his work is done.

Either way, it’s sort of a win-win.

He strides towards Feyre so fast she flinches and Rhysand, who can barely hold himself up to the doorpost, tries to winnow towards him. But Lucien has had this room spelled to prevent that since he moved in. Not for his own protection but so that those who want to see him must climb the Mountain, and look over the remnants of how it was, and out to see how the country is.

Feyre shakes her head, and Lucien almost crumbles to the ground. He _has_ done good. He _has_. He knew it. “But to do good and to make others do good, those are very different things.”

And then, he realizes at the same time they do that this is the end. The only way he’ll give up his throne now is by death. Lucien doesn’t even see the ash dagger at her side, but he feels it as it rams into his chest. He does hear her say though, right before: “I’m sorry.”

Lucien falls. He’ll have a death now, a slow one he hopes. Something he deserves, he believes. He doesn’t realize that Feyre is crying. That she holds him close to her own chest, rocking him back and forth as the light leaves his eyes.

“F-Feyre?” He asks. Words are hard now. His mind barely works. Is this what it feels like to die? He wonders. Is this how Jurian felt? Vassa? Jesminda?

“Yes, Lucien?”

“I-I’m the villain again, aren’t I? I-In your,” he takes a deep breath trying to force out the words but he feels like he’d drowning (he is, blood is filling his lungs with every second), “narrative. I was always the villain.”

“No!” Feyre whispers fiercely. “No. You were lost, and confused, and hurt just like I was. You were an enabler and a victim. But never the villain.”

But Lucien is already gone, and he never hears the words that leave her mouth.


End file.
